Something You Needed To Know
by cherryredchucks
Summary: The first time Ron told Hermione he loved her


Hermione was scared.  
  
Well, scared wasn't really the right word to voice what she was feeling at this second. It wasn't just fright, it was something deeper. She had always like classifying things, even at an early age she was brilliant at separating things, ordering them, keeping them neat. Her parents had never had to tell her twice to pick up her toys, if they had even needed to at all. The night before her first trip to Hogwarts, she had spent an hour and a half packing everything neatly so that nothing would be wrinkled or crammed in. But now, now she was feeling a swell of emotions, none of which would stay around long enough for her to figure out what one was. She knew fear was in there, it should have been in there. It was the night before the final battle. Everyone knew what would come with the rise of the sun, the challenge of good versus evil. And maybe, just maybe, this would be her last night.  
  
She looked around her room. All of her dorm mates had gone home, to be with their families in this crisis. She thought of home, of sitting by the hearth, her mum's arms around her, her father playing some old song on the radio, humming brokenly and occasionally singing off tune along with it. She wrapped her arms around herself, closing her eyes, trying to smell the scent of ginger that she always associated with her mother. But the sharp draft from the open window sent a chill down her spine, shattering the image of warmth and home in her mind's eye. She looked around the gloomy stone room. Her parents had begged her to come home, they'd pleaded her to be safe and just come home. She had resisted, one of the very few times she had ever fought against her parents. She couldn't go home. She couldn't turn her back on them, pretend there was no evil, no dark lord trying to take over once more. She had to grow up. She had to be someone, do something, be involved, use what little she felt she could do.  
  
Hermione glanced at her mirror. She did a double take and walked slowly towards the full length mirror. Surely that person looking back at her wasn't Hermione Granger. Her eyes swept carefully from the dark brown clogs, to the dark jeans, to the warm gray cable-knit sweater over the crisp white oxford blouse. Her brown hair glinted dully in the soft moonlight, the curls seeming to absorb the silvery light and trap it in their depths. But her face, it was so young looking. She touched her cheek tentatively. It was soft and smooth, with the lightest dusting of color on her cheekbones. She was far from the eleven year old on that fateful day on the Hogwarts Express. But she was still only seventeen. She looked young but felt a thousand years older. Her eyes, they were the only part that looked older. They were not filled with the youthful innocence, the ignorance, the happiness that came from the blissful unawareness that resided in many of the other girls her age's eyes. The others, they hadn't seen what she had seen. And they would never see what she was about to see. Hermione turned away from the mirror and walked to the window-seat. She leaned her head against the cool stone, looking out on the Hogwarts grounds but not seeing anything.  
  
She was so lost in her own thoughts that she didn't hear the soft knock on the door. She didn't hear the door creak as it swung open and a red head of hair poked in, before quietly easing the door shut. Ron walked to her nervously. She was lost in thought and she looked beautiful. Of course, Ron always thought she looked beautiful. But more importantly, she looked like Hermione. The old Hermione. The one back in fourth year who had gotten so worked up over S.PE.W. The one who could worry about elf rights, but never stopped to worry about her own. The one who had always helped Harry and himself, even when she was petrified. Ron shuddered involuntarily and forced that image out of his head. The soft moonlight blended into her creamy smooth skin, making her face seem even softer. And she was his. He smiled to himself. It had taken him a while. He had inherited the Weasley Thickness which had made his own Mum wait six years for his Dad to realize that he loved her. He had been lucky though, he'd realized he loved her in only four. But it had taken him another two before he stopped fighting it. And now, they had been together for a year. And he was happy.  
  
He had always thought his mother and father were strange, never being bored by such a domestic life. But when he looked at Hermione, he didn't see kissing in the unused corridors (though they'd done that more than once) or think about the way her touch seemed to blaze a fire on his skin. He thought of every day waking up to see her face, and to end every night watching her fall asleep. He thought of lemonade on sunny porches as they watched their children. He thought of watching the Hogwarts Express leave from the platform, his arm around his wife as their children waved from the windows. He thought of love and forever and all that he was scared he could never give. He knew he might not be able to give her forever. He knew that tomorrow could be his dying day, that he could never get to see those children or grandchildren or even great-grandchildren. And that scared him. He walked closer, standing near her, close enough to smell the faintest scent of parchment and lavender.  
  
"Hi," His voice sounded hoarse. Hermione jumped a little and whipped around quickly before relaxing at the sight of the tall redhead in front of her.  
  
"Ron," She breathed, a smile that he always put on her face lighting up. "What are you doing here?" He shrugged and she shifted so he could sit on the window seat as well.  
  
"Wanted to see you." Sometimes he could be so simple, so easy, so…Ron.  
  
"Oh," He swung his legs so that she was between him, leaning on his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, engulfing her prim, white, smooth, hands in his tanned, quidditch-roughened ones. "Ron?" He looked at her, his blue eyes searching hers. She bit her lip nervously before telling herself that it was absurd to be nervous around him. "Are you-" she faltered, wishing she had never even thought of this, never started to bring it up. "scared?" Ron expelled a puff of hair and drew her closer.  
  
"Yeah," He said finally. The air around them seemed peaceful; the tension that had hung from his silence was gone and replaced with the comfort and security that seemed to always surround the pair when they were together. It was almost like a shield, Hermione had thought to herself once. "But I'm not scared of the battle."  
  
Hermione shifted a little to look at his face. He was gazing out on the silvery grounds, a look of determination and courage on his still young face. He looked at her and his blue eyes softened, the hardness and toughness gone from the cerulean depths. He wove his fingers through her hair, turning the strands, which seemed to drip off his fingers they were so soft, over and over in the moonlight, as though he had never seen them before.  
  
"You're not?" She asked, confusion written plainly on her face. It was what everyone was scared of, what everyone had been secretly thinking about in the back of their heads, even as smiles littered the common room.  
  
"No, I'm scared of other things." He said, almost dismissively. Hermione took his hand in hers and looked at him.  
  
"Like what?" She asked quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. The room had seemed to take on a sanctuary-like quality and her regular voice would have broken it.  
  
"I'm scared of dying, and," he tenderly touched her cheek. "Leaving you." Hermione's eyes filled with tears and she laid her head on Ron's chest, letting a few drops escape.  
  
"Don't talk like that, Ronald Weasley," she said in the same tone she would use when she was admonishing first years. "We are going to get out of this alive and well and-" She was disgusted with herself as the sobs came harder "You can't leave me Ron! I'll die without you!" Ron gathered her swiftly into her arms, fiercely hugging her as she sobbed into his shoulder. The tears had been pent up inside for so long. She sobbed as she thought of Sirius and Neville and the others who had all died for this war, of the dozens more who would. She sobbed as she thought of the normal childhood that had been ripped away from her, of the innocence and naiveté she would never have. And she cried as she thought of him leaving her.  
  
"Shh" Ron tried to soothe Hermione. "Hermione, listen to me." She lifted her tear stained face from his chest and he was struck once more with her beauty. He knew it was cliché and trite and horribly overused but he loved her, she was always beautiful. "Hermione, I need to tell you something. Because something else is scaring me even more than the thought of dying and that's dying without you knowing how I really feel or you dying and my chance being lost for forever." Hermione looked at him questioningly and Ron summoned his Gryffindor courage as he took a shaky breath. "Hermione, I love you."  
  
His heart thudded in his ears as she stared back at him, confusion in her eyes. Oh bloody hell. He had ruined everything; this was the wrong time to say it. She probably only thought he was saying it because it was the night before and she needed comforting.  
  
"I-Ron," She stuttered, her brown eyes looking up at him through her long dark lashes. "I love you too." She smiled and it was like the whole room lit up. He grabbed her to him again, pulling her close, crushing her to him and she seemed just fine with being crushed. He whispered it again and again between kisses. She murmured it into his flesh. He loved her. She loved him. And suddenly dying didn't seem quite as foreboding as long as the other knew. 


End file.
